To Die Will Be An Awfully Big Adventure
by Persephone Price
Summary: It was tragic, how much he loved her, how much he would never love her, and how much he wished he could. Amy/Eleven.


**Author's note: Heyyy, everyone! So, there's really no reason for me to be posting this other than the fact that the God Complex broke my heart :-( I will ship Amy/Eleven FOREVER. I will not give up, no matter how unrealistic and impossible it is. Haha I just love them together. Their chemistry is so much better than Rory/Amy's or the Doctor/River's. I mean, don't get me wrong, I have nothing against Rory or River and I think they're portrayed excellently, they just don't have the spark that Amy and the Doctor do. So that's my justification.**

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><p>It was tragic, how much he loved her, how much he would never love her, and how much he wished he could.<p>

How many times had he watched – from the false security of his flying blue box – her snowy face peer up at him from over a windowsill? Her hazel irises filled with longing, filled with hurt, filled with betrayal.

Too many times.

Her features had aged from those of a chubby ginger schoolgirl to those of a sleek and confident young woman, true enough, but the sadness in her eyes remained constant.

It broke his hearts – both of them – to do this to her. Again. To do this to a companion. Again. To do this to a love. Again.

The cycle would end when he did.

He didn't know why he did it, why he continuously put himself through this same torture. Perhaps it was because he truly was vain – he truly did want to be adored. Or perhaps it was because of the loneliness that gnawed and tore away at his frittered soul.

He would never cease to marvel at how – with each regeneration – he managed to find the woman most perfect for him. It was either a talent or a curse… On second thought, it was surely both. He and Amy, Amy and him, the two of them, clashed like atoms under heat. She was the pure embodiment of fire, from her spitfire temper to her flame-like locks. She was a blaze. A burning star. A beautiful, destructive, amazing, entrancing, hypnotic, strong, clever, and seductive force.

Amelia Pond, a fairytale, could not have known that he would come for her that fateful night when she was seven. And it _must_ have been fate, for why else would her parents have given her such a ridiculous name? She was destined for more than Leadworth. For more than what she was given.

Or, rather, she was destined for _exactly_ what she had been given: a crack in her wall.

She waited for him. He never came.

Years passed.

When he finally returned, she was there, but also not. She was different. Jaded. He had changed the course of time, he had changed her fundamentally. His affect on her was profound, more so than on any other prior companion. He was ingrained in her life – in her psychological development.

But four psychiatrists later, he returned.

And then he left. Again. And she waited. Again.

The final reunion between them was sweet.

She left willingly, no longer in need of convincing. Well, perhaps a _bit_ of convincing – but, really, they both knew that she'd made her mind up the moment she laid eyes on him. She left on the eve of her wedding. She left Rory for him.

And she always would, though he might not have realized it. She would always choose him over Rory. Always.

He was, after all, her Raggedy Doctor. She could never say no to him.

And she would wait. She would wait for however long it took – she always did. Countless times, she'd waited for him. And she trusted him to come for her – he always did. Eventually, anyway. He'd said that she hadn't seen the last of him, and she believed him. She trusted him fully. She had _faith_ in him still.

It was funny, he thought, how attached to her he was. They were intertwined inextricably. He grew into his eleventh form with her by his side for the duration of the process. She was as much a part of him as he was of her.

He understood that, eventually, he would grow to have feelings for her _daughter_, of all things. At least, that he was _supposed_ to grow to have feelings for her daughter. But he knew now something that he hoped he would remember later: whatever he would love in River was what he loved in Amy. But he couldn't have Amy, so he would have to make due with a substitute. That saucy personality, that sharp tongue – they were all echoes of the red-haired siren, Amelia Jessica Pond-_Williams_. Or, as she would forever be in his memory, Amy Pond. He couldn't bear the notion of her becoming anything other than what she was.

He prayed that the loss of him wouldn't destroy her, but he knew it had the potential to.

For what was the world without hope? Without the hope that her doctor would return for her? That he would realize that he couldn't live without her and come back – for the fourth time – to whisk her away into space once again? She couldn't stand to think that he was gone forever.

But Amy was not a victim, nor would she ever be. She didn't need to _hope_ that he'd realize his feelings for her – she _knew _he would. And she knew where he was headed now, two hundred years into the future. To his own death.

For what was life without Amelia Pond?

He was finished with living on endlessly, burning through companions like batteries. He couldn't bear it anymore; he couldn't bear derailing another life.

He would march to his demise on a good note, knowing he'd saved the best for last.

"_What do Time Lords pray to?"_ she'd asked.

Oh, glorious Pond, what _did_ they pray to? To nothing. To everything. To the _universe_. There was so much in the galaxy, so much that he'd seen, so much that he'd explored… But he had one last adventure in him yet. When all mysteries were revealed, there was always one last secret left to be unraveled.

All things perished, even Time Lords. All things prayed, even Time Lords. He just had yet to figure out what _to._

Whatever death brought, whatever door it opened, one thing was for certain: every creature would eventually experience it. Even Amy.

So, he hadn't been lying when he'd said he'd see her again – not really. He _would_ see her again. He, who had seen every death and every birth, he, who had traveled all of space and time, would be reunited – for the absolute _last_ time – with his Amy.

Death was a scary thing, but it brought prospects that were much more alluring than they should have been. So he would accept it, as a gift.

Because they really were all stories in the end, after all. But he hoped – _oh_, how he desperately hoped – that Amelia Pond would end up with her Raggedy Man; that they would finally be given their "happily ever after."

And that was a hope worth praying for.

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><p><strong>Author's note: Thanks for reading! I don't really expect you to review, I mostly just posted this for my own satisfaction. But, having said that, feedback would be much appreciated. If it's not any trouble, that is. <strong>


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